Scions of the Dark City (Dark Eldar OOC\interest thread)

Player:Grall Stonefist
Character Name: Hetax "Razorhand"
Sex: Male
Type\Class: Wrack
Equipment: Barbed hook'n chain. grafted barbed claw. splinter shotgun (paralising and coagulating poisen instead of nerve toxin)
Appearance: Like all Wracks Hetax is a nightmarish and grotesque being, standing taller than the average dark Eldar wilts also having a much more brutish and muscular frame.
Hetax posses two right arms, the top one being the visible strongest, also carries the hook he throws to ensnare his marks, wilst the lower arm has a barbed metal claw grated to it so those that get close enough wont escape his painfull and powerfull grab. In due to the nature of his specially made splinter shotgun, he carries it one handed in his left arm.
his head is covered in a black helmet though his differs a bit from the average wrack helm, since his sports a mechanical jaw filled with razor sharp teeth.
Several small spine potruet from his back, though the largets is the one right below the neck with grows up just above the hight of his helmet.

Appearance: Eetlis stands with the lithe body build characteristic of his kind. He has extremely pale skin and dark hair. His face was immature and childish yet in his mismatched eyes (One eye is pale indigo while the right replacement eye is green) lurked the piercing gaze of a predator hungering for pain and murder.

His Kabalite armor is heavily personalized with red "paint" on the forearms and a black plume coming out of his helmet. He wears a red tabard over his armor and a belt to hold his knife, daggers and any other belongings he happens to find.

Background: Eetlis Oberus is a half-born. A eldar subjected to an unnatural birth and a life of servitude. Eetlis however exceled as a warrior and proved himself proficient in combat on many raids into real-space.

Eetlis had then gone rogue and collected a small band of 5-10 followers to act as mercenaries. Eetlis then earned a reputation as when a rival kabal tried to bribe him into betraying the Archon currently employing him he refused and told the Archon about the attempt, allowing the Archon to destroy his would-be successor.

Since then he and his band (The Fair Folk) earned a reputation of loyalty to their contractors. Some mistook this as a sense of honor, however this concept is as alien to Eetlis as the rest of the residents of Commoragh. He merely does it because a trustful person is a commodity that most would give everything for.

Eetlis is a skilled and cunning fighter but he has his own flaws, he is known for his undisciplined behavior on the battlefield and court. He constantly jokes and ridicules when he deems it appropriate even against his employers and especially his enemies.

Recently Eetlis and the fair folk hired themselves out to a mon'keigh rogue trader. After several years of absence Eetlis finally returned to Commoragh, albeit without his mercenary band.

Many rumors float around about the fate of the fair folk but Eetlis himself has said nothing. Looking for work he has hired himself out to the kabal of the crimson moon and seeks to make up for lost time.

Kadara is not lithe. She is not serpentine nor elegant. She is better compared to one of the big cats, with a powerful and imposing presence. Her build is best described as amazonian, standing easily a head over any crowd of her kin and endowed with great physical strength. One might even call her brutish by Dark Eldar standards, though she remains unnervingly agile and graceful. She is no mon-keigh. However, despite her raw physicality, she is not at all unfeminine, but her curves are rooted in outright thickness and not the sleek, slender surface of most females of her kind.

Rather than the pearly white complexion of the higher classes of Commorragh, Kadara's face is grayish and pallid, contrasted by cold, yellow eyes and pitch black hair. The sides of her head are shaven short, leaving her hair in a mane-like, flowing crest. Usually, her hair is bound at her neck to prevent distracting movement.

Her kabalite armor is painted in a matte, black color scheme with crimson lining. Kept in tip-top shape, the suit of light, form-fitting material is nonetheless painted in a fashion to evoke the image of blood splattered across the black plates. The armor is quite modest --- besides the dramatic paintjob --- and sports smooth, angular surfaces instead of the spiked ornaments many warriors choose to adorn themselves with. Her helm gives her a bright red, baleful stare.

Background:

Though trueborn in the most technical sense, Kadara's birth is an ignoble one. She was neither vat-grown nor born in the union of the privileged, but conceived from a rutting tryst between the dregs of Commorragh society. Borne into the world among the Parched, Kadara eked out a turbulent existence in the Sprawls. She was born free from servitude, but subject to suffering and want beyond the debased sadism of the Dark City's institutions. She was born an animal.

Even so, Kadara thrived in spite of --- or, rather, because of --- the great opposition stacked against her and she rose above fighting for mere survival. She climbed the rungs of misery to Port Carmine, where she took out her brutality on the trash lurking in the corners of the spaceport like rats on a ship. Her actions drew the eye of a Sybarite of one of the local Kabals, earning her an offer and the promise of greater glory fighting in an Archon's name. Naturally, she accepted.

Her skills continued to develop under the guidance of elder warriors and were continuously tested by rival Kabals and peers alike. Her first Kabal was a short-lived one, however, as it was quickly beheaded and replaced by other, smaller factions. Even though she made a new pledge to a new Kabal, she was hounded by old rivals and comrades alike, and the chaotic circle of killings continued.

Eventually, Kadara grew weary of the sameness to her superficially turbulent experience and upon the closure of yet another Kabal... she opted instead to strike out on her own, seeking creatures of greater ambition that might pursue greater goals than fighting over scraps. Her conflict-frought wandering was brought to a close when an invitation to the Crimson Moon Kabal was extended to her. With the recent buzz about the Severed Hope's leaders being deposed by the Archon Zar'uil, the offer intrigued her. Naturally, she accepted.

TL;DR incoming! Here is my Wych. For your approval. He likes approval almost as much as attention. I played on the old "there are more female Wyches and they do better" idea as a motivator for him to strive to be better. (I blame Vect for this unseemly bit of Codex sexism )

Player: Jorimel

Character name: Keshariel Ilestrion, the Severer

Sex: Male

Type\Class: Wych

Age: 325

Equipment: Wych Armour in corvid-iridescent black with the edges carefully enamelled in jade green extracted from the wing cases of a beetle that lived on only one continent of a planet now blasted into rock. There was an incident involving its core and a nuclear reactor meltdown, a plan he was instrumental in creating, though he nearly missed the final assault because he was busy collecting enough beetles. A Shard Carbine and Splinter Pistol, both standard issue. Some daggers, lightweight and very sharp, suitable for throwing. Three plasma grenades, each bearing a poem to the Consort of the Void, and a small portrait of her in exquisite, not to say explicit detail. Lastly some monofilament wire hidden in a sash around his waist or coiled up in a small pouch (with some elegant spidersilk gloves to handle the device without losing fingers). Personal effects.

[I can of course take less stuff, but please can he keep the garrotte?]

Background:
Origin: Born into the Wych Cult of the Serpent's Kiss, the Trueborn son of one of the more minor Wyches quickly found he was not destined to be a great power in the Cult. In keeping with the Dark Eldar creed of striving for perfection in all things in which one desires to excel, Keshariel tried for two hundred or so years to make his way to the top …

… only to find that he was blocked from its higher echelons by virtue of having been born a male.

Though there was certainly a place for a male of his strength, stamina and good looks, Keshariel found that his presence in the arena was regarded as a novelty at best. Opportunities to show how good he had become with a blade, monowire noose or elegantly-placed kill shot were somehow always sidelined in favour of one of the aspiring daughters of the Cult. Invitations to audiences with any of the Hekatrices always had more to do with pleasure than business. He felt tired of being treated more like a nameless pleasure slave than one of the Eldarith Ynneas, and found the future prospect of being seen (in his view) as good breeding stock demeaning. In short it was a frustrating life for someone of Keshariel’s drive and ambition, and he decided that the only way to gain any kind of status other than that of a favoured concubine was to strike out and find somewhere where he could make a scar of his own upon the Dark City.

Personality: Keshariel is a risk-taker. Although he is capable of executing a meticulous plan, carried out in many steps, he is always having to balance his desire for such surety with the thrill-seeking side of his nature, which still takes over on occasion. As an aspirant Wych, this gave him a flashy but superficial edge, and the accurate judgement of many of his teachers was that he has potential but will never be a political force on his own. Keshariel isn’t stupid, but he sometimes fails to concentrate for long enough to be a true player in Commorragh’s games.

What he is good at is innovation. He will often be the first to suggest something unorthodox or risky, but he has always calculated the odds. Well, almost always. Sometimes something looks like just too much of a buzz not to try.

In common with this, Keshariel is finely attuned to the sorts of varied pleasures being a Dark Eldar can offer, the hedonistic impulses that need to be kept to certain times and places or risk unfortunate consequences. What holds him in check are two things: firstly fear of failure – he refuses to entertain the idea of falling so far as not being at least in a good Kabal, if not something more prestigious. He is Trueborn. How can he be expected to live like one of the common rabble? Of course, he also wants to prove to certain of his Wych Cult just how wrong they were to dismiss him. Secondly, he is very aware of the strength and ability of those currently ranked above him and tries to keep a good idea of who pulls the strings and who is merely manipulated. Or, this being the Dark City, which is doing how much of each to whom.

His skill at attention to detail means that Keshariel is quite a good artist, but he is really too lazy to apply himself to this creative pursuit. He tends to indulge himself in his time off, his recreational drugs of choice being hallucinogens. So far he’s been quite good at judging what is truly time off. So far.

Keshariel is fairly good at working as part of a team (so far as any Dark Eldar is) because that’s how he was taught in the Wych Cult – in a small class, often with group challenges to face such as how to take down a much larger opponent.
Keshariel is left-handed and his favourite colour is blue. He doesn’t believe in luck, as far as he is concerned he wins because he is better. (!)

Appearance: Keshariel shows his origins in the arena: he is a classic Wych beauty, with large, dark purple eyes, a proud set to his slightly aquiline features, and a sensual mouth. He has long straight hair, usually black or dark green; he has taken great pains and spent no little currency on making sure his flawless white skin stays that way. It has a few small scars, but these are all in the process of being dealt with (it takes time to collect the sort of payments Haemonculi need for delicate work). He is tall, with long legs usually shod in high boots and almost always wears gloves to protect his elegant hands, “the hands of an artist”, as he likes to say, often while uncoiling his trademark garrotte from some unfortunate’s neck. He wears Wych armour and sometimes, when out in the field, a long coat with a fur-lined collar that is a reminder of a previous excursion.

Other: Keshariel is quite good at coming up with ideas, though not always of the most orthodox kind. He is stealthy on his feet and quick, making good use of the monowire garrotte in ambush, most of all a close combat specialist from his time in the arenas, though he is a passable shot with the Shard Carbine as well. He enjoys the contrast between the subtlety of the noose and the anything but subtlety of massive firepower.

Keshariel hasn’t left the arena as such; he’s taken a sabbatical, as creatures as easily bored as Dark Eldar often do, looking for something a bit more substantial and exciting to do – he plans one day to make a spectacular comeback. That, he believes, should silence a few detractors.

Player : Bossaroo
Character name: Ave'ras
Sex: Male
Class :Kabalite Warrior
Equipment:
- Kabalites armor with deeper embedment spikes to secure the armor , a modification made after a horrid incident
- a jagged , serrated combat knife used on foes, allies, and whomever he takes fancy ro
- a Splinter gun
-a mnemonic scope to record foes and whomever is hit, their dying moments perserved

- splinter cannon

Appearance: Ave'ras is noticeably shorter compared to others of his kin and an avearage build. His face is relatively unscarred with only a minor scar across his eyebrow though down his body the scars are exceedingly more evident . The areas showing repeated damage from the imbedment spikes which hold his armor in place, and A massive maring across the left side of his chest asking of which will lead to the Kabalite's usual docile demeanour disappearing rapidly

The Kabalite's expression is generally one of uniterest on most occasions , combined with his docility it generally seems as if he is bored though his eyes are always crtical

Background:
A seasoned Kabalite having gone on quite a few raids into realspace and tasted the agony of the pitiful mon'kiegh and even on one occasion back-water exodite kin . He is suprisingly docile for a Kabalite though it is unknown whether the docility is an descrete ploy or if the Dark kin is particularly foolish

Appearance: Surion is, for a Dark Eldar, neither tall nor short; muscular from her self-appointed hours of hard physical labour the likes of which are left to slaves by others but not crude or unrefined (truly, quite the opposite, and the artisan would take great umbrage at any suggestion to the contrary), particularly broad or clumsy. Her pale Eldarith Ynneas skin is marred by a few scars and badly-healed wounds, and where once was a rune of the Obsidian Rose tattooed onto the right side of her neck now proudly sits a patch of burned tissue, whiter than her hide normally is. On the opposite side now sits the mangled rune that spells her pseudonym, drawn in fire-red ink.

On the Dark Eldar sliding scale of arrogance versus malice, Surion's face generally falls on the arrogant side of the spectrum. Pretty enough for an average Trueborn, though not enough by far to impress those of distinguished standing, she possesses an angular visage framed by long, dark blond hair. Green eyes that flicker up with excitement whenever the smith gets to test out her creations, or see them in action wielded by skilled hands, sit perhaps a bit too deep within her skull, surrounded by eyerings that speak of an abstinence from sleep.

Background:

Half-born into the Obsidian Rose by virtue of being, nigh literally, pushed out of the artificial womb into a weapons factory, Suraina Lathellion spent her early existence building Splinter Rifles as one of the faceless many under Aestra Khromys' thumb. And like all slave-workers within her Kabal, she was subject to the Queen of Splinters' noncompromising, almost unreachable standards when it came to her arms. Standards she always had difficulty meeting – a young Suraina was eager to work and avoid punishment, yes, earn a place on whatever raid the Rose was planning, but she lacked skill and focus. As she matured, Lathellion, and the Archon noticed this, became skillful beyond compare to her fellow slaves, but lacked the enthusiasm and drive to utilise these skills. In an attempt to motivate untapped talent, she was put into the care of a proper artisan of arms, with a proper workshop. He hated the young Half-born, but the increased scrutiny only served to increase her skill.

It was true that Lathellion hated the monotony of the task, but the Splinter Rifles she built launched their poisonous payload like lightning from an angry God; not simply perfectly built to order, but she had also perfected the slicing mechanisms to a level normally reserved for Trueborn, each newly-sliced Splinter perfectly shaped, grooved, to strike true. Commorragh did as Commorragh does, and eventually, she was asked to make side earnings with sharing those well-made weapons she crafted with rivals of the Obsidian Rose. Monotonous or not, this tickled her ego just the right way to enter a deal even if she hadn't been threatened. To protect her identity, and to feed her hubris, the Half-born marked these weapons with a stylised rune, similar to an opening rose (a mockery, directed at her cruel masters), that read as 'Surion'.

Alas, Surion's guns never earned the fame she felt they deserved, because that faction within the Kabal who had drawn their weapons from her would soon realise that her boredom and their faith in her only earned them a distinct lack of arms. They were crushed, and the artisan responsible flayed alive – Surion's master, that is. Suraina, after all, carried the Archon's favour. She took over the workshop.

As years passed, Surion, who'd learned to make sure to only trade in small amounts, and not to Obsidian Rose usurpers (still bearing the unmistakable mark, however), found herself in a position of enough resources to focus on something she wanted to do: Craft blades, work with the forge, cut gems and weave wires to build arms that would actually taste blood. The thought excited her. They excited her enough to funnel all resources available into learning and working this new craft. And the blades that resulted from it were, while flashy and certainly ceremonial in appearance, nevertheless more than workable arms worthy of a Dark Eldar.

With confidence, after quite a few years of Surion-blades finding their ways into the hearts and bodies of mon-keigh, Craftworld kin, and other unfortunates present in whatever raid she took part in, she presented her work to the overseers. Surion was certain they spoke for themselves.

They were made gifts to the Wych-Cults that Khromys supported, and the aspiring bladecrafter was told to return to splinter weaponry. No, their worth was acknowledged. But it had not been her place.

Not all tales of dissent are heroic. Surion faced the order with obedience, and fled in a manner most cowardly soon thereafter, taking her beloved tools with her to find a patron who would admire and respect her talent.

Soon thereafter, certain individuals not bearing the colours of the Obsidian Rose had begun enjoying the oddly-runed, cruel weapons. And the Rose of Surion had just begun to become recognised, once more. This time, however, as the mark for a weapon that was as much art as armament – a weapon that sung of the love its maker poured into it.

Appearance: Heltherith is around average height and girth for a Dark Eldar with azure eyes and raven-black hair, kept long and bound up. Possesses a small, but still notable scar on her right cheek in the pattern of a claw from a beast, along with a faded marking on the left side of her neck where she had been tattooed as a part of her punishment. Prefers clothing that would be considered daring, mostly as a proclamation of her skills.

Background: Heltherith is Trueborn even if her relationship with her parents and siblings is rather... Strained after her misdeeds. Suffice to say, an attempted heist (which would have grandiose if it had been executed correctly, and made their target a laughing stock among their peers) upon a Kabal of high stature to gain some extra wealth was not the best uses of her time. That lead to her having a long stint as a slave to that Kabal as punishment for Mertrixa's transgression, one that made her wish she'd been given the regular treatment rather than the one her parents agreed that she could undertake to preserve her beauty.

After her time in captivity was done, Heltherith ended up as a wanderer on the wrong side of the tracks, only saved from the life of the Parched by being willing to step into various back room gladiator matches as a contender. Unlike what was expected by those running the ameture games however, she developed a talent for that style of bloodshed, the dance of blades becoming part of her skill set.

Likewise, Mertrixa also ended up learning about healing wounds and leaving no trace of the blow’s existence, given that she lacked the personal funds for medical care (that was even remotely trustworthy), and wouldn’t besmirch her body.

Player: Wata
Character Name: Kaesar
Sex: Male
Type\Class: Trueborn Incubus
Equipment: Klaivex and Incubus Warsuit, Wrist (armor-integrated) flamer
Appearance: Two small and careful vertical scars under his right eye from fights he deemed to be most exhilarating. Possesses a wiry yet intimidating build. In the tallest side of Eldar standards regarding body height.
Background (optional): Tahkos holds little interest in the myriad power plays and political intrigues that Dark Eldar are infamous for. He cares for combat and the feeling of seeing his opponent hopeless and broken before the killing blow. The scars on his face are a record of kills, which are from his trials to reach incubus status. His predecessor Incubus and Craftworld Aspect Warrior specifically.

Player: Brother_Draconion
Character Name: Gorthâür Dráuglanath, "Thû" for short.
Sex: Male
Type\Class: Mandrake Assassin
Equipment: Twin power falchions, scoped Splinter rifle, courtly robes with hooded cloak, ivory masquerade mask, grisly trophies, sundry odds and ends, haywire pistol.
Appearance: In build, Thû is a typical Mandrake - lean and hard like a starved wolf, ropey muscles rippling with savage grace, light-drinking skin shot through with swirling patterns of frozen fire that blur vision and nauseate the viewer. That being said, he is in many ways not your grandmother's Mandrake - rather than the crabbed, feral poise commonly adopted by the barbarous cannibals, he grooms and carries himself upright like a high noble of Commorragh. Likewise, he has speech and manners to match, able to blend seamlessly with the poisoned politesse of a great Archon's court and converse knowledgeably - in an incongruously melodious voice - on almost subject at length. In combination with obsidian eyes that glow electric blue when flush with stolen life, features oft described as 'statuesque', and a quirky half-smile that echoes the decadence of the Fall itself, more than one female Archon (and at least one male) has attempted to retain the ostensibly-civilised savage long-term for less-than-professional reasons.
Background (optional): Like most others of his kind, the Mandrake known to greater Commorragh as Thû makes his living as an assassin, plying his trade freelance to the highest bidder. Again, like most Mandrakes, no one knows much about his origins, nor even his real name. All they know is that, approximately twenty years ago, a strangely urbane Shadewalker appeared out of nowhere within the circles of the city, announcing his presence with a series of high-profile decapitation strikes that ended a three-way war between bitterly feuding middle-tier Kabals.

Before long, a mysterious figure began appearing throughout the courts. Cloaked and cowled in midnight blue, face obscured by an impassive ivory mask, this mystery man would be seen conferring with the powerbrokers of Commorragh. Wherever he trod, death would soon follow - none could foresee where or when the stroke would fall, but fall it would before long. In another unusual twist, reports soon arose of a Mandrake whose attacks were often presaged by sniper fire - typically on the principal target's security and other companions.

Few had the savvy or privileged information to put two and two together, but those who did wasted no time in putting the right whispers in circulation, hoping to summon the masked man in midnight blue to help them with a sticky problem or two.

For those who offered the right price, the masked man would indeed appear at their door within a matter of days. Inevitably, he would set their problems aright. Invariably, he would also demand this privilege on top of the agreed-upon fee - that he be given leave to freely circulate in their courts for a period of time - days, weeks, months - speaking to all comers.

Watching.

Listening.

Learning.

Player:Hamonculus
Character Name:Yrara
Sex:Male
Type\Class: Hamonculus
Equipment: Modified Shardrifle , Hamonculus experiment armor(Mix of operating tools, drugs and chemicals and armor), power blade, Stinger pistol, Stimuli injector (3 charges, d6 HP gain, loses it after d3).
Appearance: Tall Compared to most Yrara bears many self surgical scars on his body and several wrinckles among his forehead a crazed expression can be noted on the Hamonculus face and at times when enthusiast or amused a long smug grin will appear across it. More surgical tools on his armor then him he often seen with a rifle and a husk blade at his side while out on a mission always looking for odditys in living beings for him to capture and examine.

Background (optional): Yrara is a oddity amoung Hamonculus due to his many Enthusiastic views and desires, To him simple direct toruture is boring more subtle means are need for him to be truly pleased. From seeing a fantaical imperials body changed into that of the Vial mutant to they hate to causing one of there way ward cousins falls Yrara Goals are alwalys odder and more long term with what he works on, Many rumored and whispers among other eldar believe Yrara has some type of plans for Real space as he has been seen on many more raids out of commograh then in bringing in specimens and oddly taking some out.

Appearance: Almost always wearing a mask, which currently mimics the razorwings he controls, Aesra has ritualistic tattoos across his right shoulder and bicep in tribute to the razorwing. Of average height and build to his dark kin he bares numerous scars from taming beasts and fighting in the wyche arenas.

Background: Aesra spent much of his time staging hunts in the wych arenas and random realspace raids. During realspace raids pushed his ambitions to control even more deadly beasts, razorwings had a special place to him as they would drag their victims directly in front of him for his entertainment as they shedded the flesh to get to the bone they so desired. But working the arenas didn't offer him the opportunity to REALLY use his talents to the fullest. And it appears that his chance may have just presented itself in the form of an open call to all who seek glory, time would tell if this would end in glory or his own death.....

Player:Grall Stonefist
Character Name: Hetax "Razorhand"
Sex: Male
Type\Class: Wrack
Equipment: Barbed hook'n chain. grafted barbed claw. splinter shotgun (paralising and coagulating poisen instead of nerve toxin)
Appearance: Like all Wracks Hetax is a nightmarish and grotesque being, standing taller than the average dark Eldar wilts also having a much more brutish and muscular frame.
Hetax posses two right arms, the top one being the visible strongest, also carries the hook he throws to ensnare his marks, wilst the lower arm has a barbed metal claw grated to it so those that get close enough wont escape his painfull and powerfull grab. In due to the nature of his specially made splinter shotgun, he carries it one handed in his left arm.
his head is covered in a black helmet though his differs a bit from the average wrack helm, since his sports a mechanical jaw filled with razor sharp teeth.
Several small spine potruet from his back, though the largets is the one right below the neck with grows up just above the hight of his helmet.

Player: @Virgil_Corbec
Name: Eetlis Oberus
Sex: Male
Type/Class: Half-born Kabalite warrior/mercenary
Equipment: Shard Rifle, Personalized Kabalite armor, monomolecular knife and pair of push daggers
Appearance: Eetlis stands with the lithe body build characteristic of his kind. He has extremely pale skin and dark hair. His face was immature and childish yet in his mismatched eyes (One eye is pale indigo while the right replacement eye is green) lurked the piercing gaze of a predator hungering for pain and murder.
His Kabalite armor is heavily personalized with red "paint" on the forearms and a black plume coming out of his helmet. He wears a red tabard over his armor and a belt to hold his knife, daggers and any other belongings he happens to find.

Background: Eetlis Oberus is a half-born. A eldar subjected to an unnatural birth and a life of servitude. Eetlis however exceled as a warrior and proved himself proficient in combat on many raids into real-space.
Eetlis had then gone rogue and collected a small band of 5-10 followers to act as mercenaries. Eetlis then earned a reputation as when a rival kabal tried to bribe him into betraying the Archon currently employing him he refused and told the Archon about the attempt, allowing the Archon to destroy his would-be successor.
Since then he and his band (The Fair Folk) earned a reputation of loyalty to their contractors. Some mistook this as a sense of honor, however this concept is as alien to Eetlis as the rest of the residents of Commoragh. He merely does it because a trustful person is a commodity that most would give everything for.
Eetlis is a skilled and cunning fighter but he has his own flaws, he is known for his undisciplined behavior on the battlefield and court. He constantly jokes and ridicules when he deems it appropriate even against his employers and especially his enemies.
Recently Eetlis and the fair folk hired themselves out to a mon'keigh rogue trader. After several years of absence Eetlis finally returned to Commoragh, albeit without his mercenary band.
Many rumors float around about the fate of the fair folk but Eetlis himself has said nothing. Looking for work he has hired himself out to the kabal of the crimson moon and seeks to make up for lost time.

Appearance:
Kadara is not lithe. She is not serpentine nor elegant. She is better compared to one of the big cats, with a powerful and imposing presence. Her build is best described as amazonian, standing easily a head over any crowd of her kin and endowed with great physical strength. One might even call her brutish by Dark Eldar standards, though she remains unnervingly agile and graceful. She is no mon-keigh. However, despite her raw physicality, she is not at all unfeminine, but her curves are rooted in outright thickness and not the sleek, slender surface of most females of her kind.
Rather than the pearly white complexion of the higher classes of Commorragh, Kadara's face is grayish and pallid, contrasted by cold, yellow eyes and pitch black hair. The sides of her head are shaven short, leaving her hair in a mane-like, flowing crest. Usually, her hair is bound at her neck to prevent distracting movement.
Her kabalite armor is painted in a matte, black color scheme with crimson lining. Kept in tip-top shape, the suit of light, form-fitting material is nonetheless painted in a fashion to evoke the image of blood splattered across the black plates. The armor is quite modest --- besides the dramatic paintjob --- and sports smooth, angular surfaces instead of the spiked ornaments many warriors choose to adorn themselves with. Her helm gives her a bright red, baleful stare.

Background:
Though trueborn in the most technical sense, Kadara's birth is an ignoble one. She was neither vat-grown nor born in the union of the privileged, but conceived from a rutting tryst between the dregs of Commorragh society. Borne into the world among the Parched, Kadara eked out a turbulent existence in the Sprawls. She was born free from servitude, but subject to suffering and want beyond the debased sadism of the Dark City's institutions. She was born an animal.
Even so, Kadara thrived in spite of --- or, rather, because of --- the great opposition stacked against her and she rose above fighting for mere survival. She climbed the rungs of misery to Port Carmine, where she took out her brutality on the trash lurking in the corners of the spaceport like rats on a ship. Her actions drew the eye of a Sybarite of one of the local Kabals, earning her an offer and the promise of greater glory fighting in an Archon's name. Naturally, she accepted.
Her skills continued to develop under the guidance of elder warriors and were continuously tested by rival Kabals and peers alike. Her first Kabal was a short-lived one, however, as it was quickly beheaded and replaced by other, smaller factions. Even though she made a new pledge to a new Kabal, she was hounded by old rivals and comrades alike, and the chaotic circle of killings continued.
Eventually, Kadara grew weary of the sameness to her superficially turbulent experience and upon the closure of yet another Kabal... she opted instead to strike out on her own, seeking creatures of greater ambition that might pursue greater goals than fighting over scraps. Her conflict-frought wandering was brought to a close when an invitation to the Crimson Moon Kabal was extended to her. With the recent buzz about the Severed Hope's leaders being deposed by the Archon Zar'uil, the offer intrigued her. Naturally, she accepted.

Player: Jorimel

Character name: Keshariel Ilestrion, the Severer

Sex: Male

Type\Class: Wych

Age: 325

Equipment: Wych Armour in corvid-iridescent black with the edges carefully enamelled in jade green extracted from the wing cases of a beetle that lived on only one continent of a planet now blasted into rock. There was an incident involving its core and a nuclear reactor meltdown, a plan he was instrumental in creating, though he nearly missed the final assault because he was busy collecting enough beetles. A Shard Carbine and Splinter Pistol, both standard issue. Some daggers, lightweight and very sharp, suitable for throwing. Three plasma grenades, each bearing a poem to the Consort of the Void, and a small portrait of her in exquisite, not to say explicit detail. Lastly some monofilament wire hidden in a sash around his waist or coiled up in a small pouch (with some elegant spidersilk gloves to handle the device without losing fingers). Personal effects.

[I can of course take less stuff, but please can he keep the garrotte?]

Background:
Origin: Born into the Wych Cult of the Serpent's Kiss, the Trueborn son of one of the more minor Wyches quickly found he was not destined to be a great power in the Cult. In keeping with the Dark Eldar creed of striving for perfection in all things in which one desires to excel, Keshariel tried for two hundred or so years to make his way to the top …

… only to find that he was blocked from its higher echelons by virtue of having been born a male.

Though there was certainly a place for a male of his strength, stamina and good looks, Keshariel found that his presence in the arena was regarded as a novelty at best. Opportunities to show how good he had become with a blade, monowire noose or elegantly-placed kill shot were somehow always sidelined in favour of one of the aspiring daughters of the Cult. Invitations to audiences with any of the Hekatrices always had more to do with pleasure than business. He felt tired of being treated more like a nameless pleasure slave than one of the Eldarith Ynneas, and found the future prospect of being seen (in his view) as good breeding stock demeaning. In short it was a frustrating life for someone of Keshariel’s drive and ambition, and he decided that the only way to gain any kind of status other than that of a favoured concubine was to strike out and find somewhere where he could make a scar of his own upon the Dark City.

Personality:

Keshariel is a risk-taker. Although he is capable of executing a meticulous plan, carried out in many steps, he is always having to balance his desire for such surety with the thrill-seeking side of his nature, which still takes over on occasion. As an aspirant Wych, this gave him a flashy but superficial edge, and the accurate judgement of many of his teachers was that he has potential but will never be a political force on his own. Keshariel isn’t stupid, but he sometimes fails to concentrate for long enough to be a true player in Commorragh’s games.

What he is good at is innovation. He will often be the first to suggest something unorthodox or risky, but he has always calculated the odds. Well, almost always. Sometimes something looks like just too much of a buzz not to try.

In common with this, Keshariel is finely attuned to the sorts of varied pleasures being a Dark Eldar can offer, the hedonistic impulses that need to be kept to certain times and places or risk unfortunate consequences. What holds him in check are two things: firstly fear of failure – he refuses to entertain the idea of falling so far as not being at least in a good Kabal, if not something more prestigious. He is Trueborn. How can he be expected to live like one of the common rabble? Of course, he also wants to prove to certain of his Wych Cult just how wrong they were to dismiss him. Secondly, he is very aware of the strength and ability of those currently ranked above him and tries to keep a good idea of who pulls the strings and who is merely manipulated. Or, this being the Dark City, which is doing how much of each to whom.

His skill at attention to detail means that Keshariel is quite a good artist, but he is really too lazy to apply himself to this creative pursuit. He tends to indulge himself in his time off, his recreational drugs of choice being hallucinogens. So far he’s been quite good at judging what is truly time off. So far.

Keshariel is fairly good at working as part of a team (so far as any Dark Eldar is) because that’s how he was taught in the Wych Cult – in a small class, often with group challenges to face such as how to take down a much larger opponent.
Keshariel is left-handed and his favourite colour is blue. He doesn’t believe in luck, as far as he is concerned he wins because he is better. (!)

Appearance: Keshariel shows his origins in the arena: he is a classic Wych beauty, with large, dark purple eyes, a proud set to his slightly aquiline features, and a sensual mouth. He has long straight hair, usually black or dark green; he has taken great pains and spent no little currency on making sure his flawless white skin stays that way. It has a few small scars, but these are all in the process of being dealt with (it takes time to collect the sort of payments Haemonculi need for delicate work). He is tall, with long legs usually shod in high boots and almost always wears gloves to protect his elegant hands, “the hands of an artist”, as he likes to say, often while uncoiling his trademark garrotte from some unfortunate’s neck. He wears Wych armour and sometimes, when out in the field, a long coat with a fur-lined collar that is a reminder of a previous excursion.

Other: Keshariel is quite good at coming up with ideas, though not always of the most orthodox kind. He is stealthy on his feet and quick, making good use of the monowire garrotte in ambush, most of all a close combat specialist from his time in the arenas, though he is a passable shot with the Shard Carbine as well. He enjoys the contrast between the subtlety of the noose and the anything but subtlety of massive firepower.

Keshariel hasn’t left the arena as such; he’s taken a sabbatical, as creatures as easily bored as Dark Eldar often do, looking for something a bit more substantial and exciting to do – he plans one day to make a spectacular comeback. That, he believes, should silence a few detractors.

So my schedule has been hectic but I believe I have the time these days mid-semester to throw a few posts up per day. And I don't know, I was thinking of maybe attempting this crazy idea of.. Gosh, maybe bringing back an old Hellion who slummed around with some Craftworlders for awhile. And seeing if he could perhaps earn himself a glorious end or a long life of luxury, atop a throne of Scourge and Haemonculus skulls. It was just a thought.